The Jailer
by coalesce
Summary: [SasuHina] Obsessed with reviving his clan, Sasuke kidnaps Hinata and imprisons her. She is to give birth to his children, the hybrids of the Byakugan and Sharingan. What he didn't call for, however, was falling in love with his prisoner.
1. Prologue: Protocol REPOST

Blanket disclaimer: This author reaps no monetary profits from writing this piece of fiction. The main characters are copyrighted to Masashi Kishimoto and his benefactors. The plot was devised purely from this author's emotions and imagination. Any likeness to original, published works is entirely a coincidence.

**Revised on June 29, 2007. **

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_**The Jailer  
by After The Fray**_

* * *

_**Dedications:**_

_**littledoggy**_

_**juliagulia1017**_

_**Housenka**_

_**Arethusa Fellini**_

_**crazygirl18**_

* * *

_**Prologue:  
Protocol**_

_"Fervor is the weapon of choice for the impotent."  
- Frantz Fanon **  
**_

* * *

Hinata lay in a slump in a corner of the room, the shadows creating an illusion of color in her pale eyes. She was fair, her smooth skin rivaling ivory. Her hair was a mirage of black ink, a shade of ebony so dark and deep one could get lost in that chimera of an abyss. Her crimson kimono brought out what little color was in her cheeks. She was the epitome of beauty in death. 

But she was still alive, unfortunately so.

The sound of a door opening stirred Hinata out of her reverie. She scrambled to her feet, bowing low before her husband – not in name, only in deed. Her inky hair stained the wooden floor. "Welcome home," she whispered.

She didn't have to look at Sasuke's bloodstained clothes to know that he had been killing again. The metallic scent of blood was telling enough. Wordlessly, the lithe female disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing with a towel and a small pail of water.

Automatically, Sasuke sat at the low table in the middle of the apartment, shedding his black gi. Hinata wiped the blood off his pale skin – a color so fair it contended with hers – gently. Her touch was smooth, like a butterfly's wing brushing against a flower petal, so as not to aggravate his wounds. However, he had none. He never did.

She always started with his broad shoulders, and she worked her way down his back. Then she would touch his left shoulder lightly, indicating that she wanted to clean his front. Mechanically, he would turn to face her, letting her dab at the blood on his sternum and abdomen.

Finished with his torso, Hinata tugged timidly at the tie around Sasuke's hakama. The black cloth pooled around the young man's ankles, giving her access to the blood that had stained his thighs and calves. Hinata no longer blushed at seeing the Uchiha in his underwear.

What came next was protocol to the pair. After Hinata cleaned him, Sasuke would always want sex with her. There was no tea or dinner first – food was second priority on the Uchiha's agenda.

The first dozen times Sasuke initiated, Hinata had resisted. For the first dozen times they did it, it was rape. Now Hinata knew better than to resist – it was better for them both if she surrendered to him. There were no benefits in fighting the young prodigy.

Sasuke and Hinata lived together like man and wife, but not by choice. They were not married, did not act married even though they took part in activities only married people should, by social standards. They had sex, but that just about summed up their relationship.

Hinata wouldn't even call what they did making love. There was no love in what they did; only trade-offs. They had sex because Sasuke wanted something from Hinata, and she, too, wanted something from him.

Neither of them knew when to stop – usually it was when Hinata got tired, but she never voiced it out to him. Somehow Sasuke noticed her little demeanors – she would get a faraway look in her eyes, her fingers would frequently brush against his right shoulder, her small hands would fist his spiky hair. When she did those, he would stop, and she would be thankful.

She never fell asleep in his arms, because he never slept with her. When they stopped, Sasuke would dress and leave her asleep wherever they did their deeds. It didn't matter if they did it on the floor or on the bed.

Hinata always woke up alone in the mornings. Her clothes would be strewn on the floor, her underwear oftentimes under the table. Sasuke never even left her a blanket to keep herself warm.

That morning, Hinata woke up to the smell of fish and rice. Sasuke had left her a small meal on the dining table. She muttered a quick thanks before voraciously devouring the meal, ignoring the cool morning air that exploited her nudity. She was no longer naïve – she did not find happiness in deceiving herself by thinking that Sasuke loved her, cared about her a little bit, even. He only left her food so she would stay healthy – so they would stay healthy – and give birth to a child whose talents he could maximize.

That was why he took and kept Hinata; he wanted to breed a hybrid of the Byakugan and Sharingan.

Greedily shoving the last grain of rice into her mouth, Hinata piled the dishes into the sink. She slipped on a clean yukata and gathered the dirty clothes – hers and Sasuke's. She noticed a gaping hole in her red kimono. She sighed, fingering the broken cloth. She would have to ask Sasuke for some cloth to cover it up with later.

She passed by the door on her way to the laundry area. She paused, staring longingly at the battered wooden surface.

Putting down her basket, she approached the door silently. Her hands clasped the cold, metal latch of the door. She pulled; it was locked from the outside. A futile attempt to leave the room.

A seal was affixed to the door – it was a technique Sasuke used so that Hinata wouldn't be able to see outside her jail with her Byakugan. That way, she had no idea of her location and no one would be able to rescue her if she ever did manage to come into contact with someone other than the Uchiha.

Hinata pressed her back to the door, slowly sliding onto the floor. She lay limply like that for a while, hands clasped around her womb and a pensive look in her eyes.

She would be trapped within these four walls forever – even after Sasuke's child was born, he wouldn't let her go. He would want more from her.

She thought of enraging the Uchiha – what if she killed their child? She was only six weeks pregnant – it wasn't too late to lose the cursed baby, but decided against an abortion. If she did terminate his child, Sasuke would just fuck her again; make her scream and writhe beneath him to punish her; make sure she would never defy his wishes again. Or if she were stubborn enough, he would just kill her. It was an easy way to break free from that jail – death was a coward's way out, albeit, but it was still an escape route.

Or even simpler, Hinata could just kill herself – but the Uchiha wouldn't stop at her death. He would simply return to Konoha and abduct another Hyuuga female. He would take her younger sister Hanabi, even. As much as Hinata resented her clan for rejecting her, she did not want anyone else to have this unfortunate fate forced upon her.

This was Hinata's burden; hers alone.

* * *

Uchiha Sasuke walked around a crowded town, looking for a kimono shop. He was classified as an S-class missing nin – ANBU ninja would vie for his head in every town he walked into. To walk about calmly in the bustling shopping district, he had transformed himself into a young man with brown hair and eyes. 

He stopped in front of a large clothing store. An elderly woman greeted him upon entering.

"Good morning, young man! Are you looking for a new set of clothes? I've got some forest green material that would look lovely on you."

Sasuke grunted, eyes darting about the shop disinterestedly – darting about the women's section in particular. He wanted to buy something for Hinata, but it wasn't like he cared about her that way.

As much as she only had a singular purpose to him, he wanted to see her in clothes that looked better than the plain, monochrome drabs she walked around in. Also, he had made a large hole in her kimono last night, in his haste to fulfill his need. He felt slightly guilty for that – but only slightly – because it seemed that that red kimono was Hinata's favourite.

His eyes landed on lavender kimono on display. It had violet flower patterns along the hem and sleeves. The delicate femininity of the design immediately brought Hinata to mind.

Sasuke pointed at the kimono and declared, "I want that one. For my wife, of course."

The elderly attendant smiled slyly. "You've got fine taste there, son. That costs a bundle, though. A hundred and fifty."

Sasuke wordlessly pulled out his wallet. As the old woman flitted to the back of the shop to have the kimono wrapped, his stomach suddenly grumbled. He had forgotten about dinner and breakfast.

He had made some rice and grilled a few fish that morning, but decided at the last minute that his cooking wasn't exactly appetizing. He figured that Hinata would have eaten his leftovers by now.

His thoughts wandered back to last night – he wasn't stupid; he had noticed that Hinata was growing thinner as the bulge in her womb grew larger. She was living for two lives now – she had to eat like two people and some fish and rice wouldn't satiate two appetites.

Sasuke wondered what Hinata liked to eat. He vaguely recalled seeing her eat at Ichiraku's back in their hometown when she was younger. So, she liked ramen too, huh? Just like an annoying blond he knew.

The old woman came back and thrust a huge pink box at him. She held out her gnarled hands expectantly.

Sasuke counted the notes leisurely before handing them over to the elderly shopkeeper. "I'd like to know where the nearest ramen stall is."

He could deny it all he wanted, but it seemed that Sasuke cared for Hinata, even by just a little bit. He may be an avenger, but he still had emotions; feelings he deemed were fleeting moments of whim and weakness. So he tried to discard them; wrap himself in armor by disposing of the shields most humans carried about. Emotions were shields that could easily be bent and broken.

Sasuke's shields had been bent and broken too much; the broken metal let the swords of others – their acts of affection – pierce his flesh and wound his heart. He never wanted to feel that pain again. He never wanted to bleed like he used to.

He was sure that Hinata would never open those wounds again – that was why he chose her, the shy and quiet Hyuuga heiress who was always stabbed in the heart, but never attacked her assailants. He was sure she would never fight back; sure she would never get too attached.

Hinata would never make him bleed.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Part I: Gift

Thank you for all the encouraging reviews!**  
**

**Revised on June 29, 2007.**

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**_Part I:  
Gift _**

_"Beware of sentimental alliances where the consciousness of good deeds is the only compensation for noble sacrifices."  
- Otto von Bismarck_

* * *

Hyuuga Neji was a lot of things. He was a genius, he was aloof and at one point in time, he was vengeful. Blind, even, to be driven by irrational madness. 

At the same time, Hyuuga Neji was not a lot of things. He was not a cruel person – he did not enjoy seeing the suffering of others. He was not emotional either. That was Lee and Gai's area of expertise.

However, Neji had no other word to describe his state of mind lately. He was shocked to hear that Hinata had been kidnapped from right under the Hyuuga clan's nose. He was angry that the Konoha ANBU allowed an outsider to infiltrate the village.

Then he felt guilty – his room was situated next to Hinata's, as he was her protector, yet he couldn't even sense the presence of the mystery kidnapper. He felt ashamed and disgusted with himself.

Hinata had been missing for a full two months now – search parties were no longer dispatched. It seemed like everyone – even the Hokage herself – had presumed the girl dead. Neji's guts did somersaults as he imagined a lifeless, bloody Hinata.

Clenching his fists, Neji croaked, "A ninja must never show emotion in any situation."

"Yes, you said something, Neji?" Tsunade demanded snippily. She drummed her fingers on the desk, impatiently waiting for a reply from the young ANBU squad member before her. "Well?"

Neji closed his eyes and bowed low. "Forgive me, Tsunade-sama, but I decline the position of ANBU captain."

The Hokage's amber eyes hardened. "I know this is a trying time for the clan, Neji, but we're in a fix of our own here. I can't think of anyone else better suited as captain of the seventh squad –"

"Naruto can do it," Neji interjected grimly. "Put Uzumaki on the job. Remove him from the eighth squad and place him as captain. He won't disappoint you."

The young man turned on his heel. Furious, Tsunade stood up, banging the table with her fists and frightening her assistant, Shizune.

"Hyuuga Neji!" she barked. "I am the Hokage and I demand respect from all ninja under my command!"

Neji turned around, his pale eyes glassy. He bowed low in reverence. "With all due respect, Hokage-sama," his voice broke, "please forgive my rudeness. I decline the position because I am incapable of executing the duties of a captain." He straightened and looked the blonde in the eye. "If I cannot even protect the person dearest to me, then I am in no capability to protect people I don't even know."

His hand hovered above the doorknob. "Excuse me."

Tsunade exhaled, sinking heavily into her chair. "I'm getting too old for this," she muttered, rubbing her temples wearily.

"So, ready to hand over the title of Hokage to me, Tsunade-baachan?"

"Naruto!" Shizune exclaimed, frowning at the teenager that had intruded into the office through an open window.

Uzumaki Naruto grinned sheepishly. "I was just on my way to deliver my team's mission report and I kind of overheard –"

"How much of it did you hear?" Tsunade demanded.

"All of it," Naruto replied just as bleakly.

Tsunade sighed. "All right, Naruto. You know what I want you to do."

Naruto nodded. "The Hyuuga Hinata case has been re-opened."

* * *

Solitude was slowly driving Hinata insane. A month and a half into her pregnancy, she started seeing the faces of her friends and family members on the walls. Two weeks later, even seemingly inconsequential things like the colors of flowers on teacups reminded her too much of Konoha – the green of a painted flower stalk reminded her of Rock Lee in combat; the silver tea kettle reminded her of the jounin Hatake Kakashi and the smoke it blew out reminded her of Team 10's Asuma – God bless his tobacco-loving soul, wherever he was. 

Hinata looked down at the red cloth in her hands. It was her favourite kimono, now ruined. She tightened her grip on the soft material. The color red reminded her of Kurenai-sensei, the only mother figure she'd had the good fortune to know. She thought of all the things she had taught her – combat skills, values imparted, even feminine tricks of the trade; it was Kurenai who had insisted that Hinata start wearing purple, because it brought out the natural highlights in her hair.

Hinata flattened her head against the grimy wall, pale eyes staring blankly at the parchment-colored ceiling. Her hands unconsciously clasped around her belly. She was now eleven weeks pregnant – was it too late to abort?

She thought of Kurenai-sensei again, and how she had to raise her and Asuma's child all on her own. But she pulled through – she loved the father, so she must love the child, too.

But Hinata didn't love Sasuke, and there were times when she wanted nothing more than to kill the seed he had planted inside her. She was frightened – when the child was born, what kind of mother will she be like? Will she ignore her baby? Hurt him?

Hinata slid down the wall to lie down on her left side, draping the red kimono over herself like a blanket. The cold floor stung her pallid cheeks and her hair mingled with the dust. She hadn't cleaned the house in three days.

The door opened. It was none other than Sasuke – and the blood he always brought home. Hinata no longer played the role of the submissive little wife, greeting him obediently at the door. She had already given up hope of him releasing her on good behavior. This wasn't a prison sentence – it was living hell, punishment for all the times she had let people down.

Onyx eyes scanned the tiny chamber briefly before landing on the heap on the floor. For a moment, Sasuke's heart stopped – was she dead? Trying to ease the uneasy palpitations of his heart, Sasuke calmly strode to her side and knelt down. He was simply concerned for his child – nothing more, nothing less.

Hinata's eyes were open – the shadows were playing a trick again, casting dark images in Hinata's eyes as though she had pupils. Sasuke realized that her pupils were merely his reflection, and that the young woman was gazing up at him from the floor.

"So, you're still alive," he stated simply.

"Sasuke," Hinata whispered, "what day is it?" It was the question she taken to ask him every day, replacing her Welcome home monologue.

"Thursday," he replied. Conversation over. He got up and retreated into the bathroom. He had to wash off the blood on his own now.

The smell of blood lingered by Hinata's side. She slowly propped herself up on her thin arms and looked towards the bathroom. She could hear the tap running as he filled a bucket to wipe himself dry.

_Blood_, she mused. Silently, she slid from beneath the red kimono and entered the bathroom.

A thin, pale hand grasped Sasuke's. The young man cocked an eyebrow at his prisoner. "I'm washing up. Get out."

"No," she said softly, her gaze trained on his blood-caked hand. She took his bloody hand in both of hers, pressing it against her chest. Her canary yellow yukata was smudged with blood.

"I like the color red," she stated simply.

"You do, don't you," Sasuke mumbled. "Look at me, then."

Hinata did as she was told, faintly surprised at the spinning wheels of the Sharingan that stared at her intensely – it was almost predatory.

Sasuke removed his black gi and took a step towards the petite female, who involuntarily stepped back. Where did his armor go? He didn't know what he was doing – he just wanted to take advantage of Hinata's temporary state of motivation.

That was all. No broken shields, no bleeding.

"You like red, don't you," he echoed.

He devoured her, right then and there.

* * *

"It's been three weeks since the case was re-opened," Tsunade stated, regarding the nineteen-year-old boy before her. "And…?" 

Naruto removed his ANBU mask and sighed, running a hand nervously through his messy blond hair. "Still nothing. Not even a lead to the identity of the kidnapper."

"Cloud ninja," Neji cut in coolly. "They had tried to kidnap Hinata-sama in the past. Perhaps our current predicament is also their handiwork."

Naruto frowned. "Neji, it took us years to finally reinstate an alliance with the Cloud – it's too risky to accuse them on unfounded claims."

"It is not unfounded," the brunet stated listlessly, glancing at the Hokage. "I suggest sending a team of Chuunin to work incognito in the Cloud village."

Tsunade sighed. "You may have a point there, Neji, but Naruto is right. We cannot usurp our peace treaties for the sake of one ninja who may already be dead. Don't look at me like that, Hyuuga. You know it as well as I do. Until we can gather more evidence on Hinata's whereabouts, we are not to be troubled with this case any further for the time being. This mission has been postponed. Resume your normal duties."

Neji opened his mouth to protest, but a withering glare from the Hokage shut him up. The two men nodded grimly and disappeared in puffs of smoke.

Once they were gone, Tsunade withdrew a small folder from her desk drawer. It was Hinata's profile – pictures of her over the years, medical records and combat statistics. The girl had excellent chakra control – as expected of a Hyuuga – but possessed low aptitude for battle. It was a pity Hiashi insisted that she be a warrior; Hinata would have made a brilliant medical ninja.

Shizune, who had stood quietly in the sidelines, piped up, "Tsunade-sama, it was a good move. The council of elders will finally be off your back."

"Was it really, Shizune?" Tsunade said wearily. "The Hokage must always put the safety of others above his own. The Hokage must make utopian decisions – always the safety of the majority over the minority."

"And you have done those duties masterfully."

Tsunade stared at her reflection in the window. "That doesn't stop me from feeling bad about this. I didn't know Hinata so well myself, but she seemed like a good girl. Very pretty to look at – fair skin and dark hair – and she was quiet. Well-mannered, too. Hiashi may never have had a good word to say about her, but the Branch members were fond of her. She was very kind. Such a sweet girl."

She sighed again. "Listen to me ramble like this – I'm getting old." She fingered Hinata's profile photo. The short, dark hair framing her pale face had grown longer the last time she'd seen the Hyuuga. Tsunade wondered vaguely if she'd grown thinner, wherever she was and if she was still alive. "Such a sweet girl. What a loss."

* * *

Blood was smeared on the bathroom tiles by the time they were done. 

Hinata's snowy skin was stained with blood – most of it belonged to those Sasuke had killed, and some were her own.

Hinata was tired. Her long, black hair was all over the white tiles – a stark contrast. Her head lolled sleepily. Her arms and legs – covered in blood – were limp. She didn't want to move any more.

Sasuke had her trapped between his arms. He loomed over her menacingly, dark eyes expressionless. He dipped – teeth grazing her neck before choosing a soft patch and sinking his teeth into it. Hinata flinched. Blood oozed out of the wound.

The Uchiha watched the blood accumulate – it spilled from the gash he had made and pooled around the wound. He pressed the cut with his finger and watched as the red tarnished the white of his skin.

He drew circles on Hinata's skin, fascinated with the wispy red swirls left behind by the blood. He smeared the paint across her collarbones; spread the pigment between her breasts.

Hinata let Sasuke do whatever he wanted. He was the jailer, she was his prisoner; powerless against his desires. She knew it well, and she had accepted it long ago.

Right now he was the artist, and she was his masterpiece. Hinata was covered in red swirls – the paint was her own blood, and the blood of those the artist had slain. She was beautiful, in an eerie way. It looked like Hinata had a cursed seal of her own.

Hinata was tired. She melted under Sasuke's smoldering gaze, her eyelids drooping. The shadow he cast over her was comforting – it was shade to her, as though she had just spent hours wandering under the hot sun. Sasuke was her savior.

How ironic, Hinata mused, the corners of her lips twitching slightly. This man – her captor and tormentor – was her refuge? She hated what he had done to her, and what more he was going to do. Yet he was her shelter from the Hyuuga, the fortress she had accidentally – and fortunately – run to when the expectations of the Hyuuga clan broke her and tried to bind her.

With half-lidded eyes, Sasuke watched Hinata sleep; the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyelids would twitch as she dreamt. She was beautiful, he realized. In her own way, she was beautiful.

He wanted to watch her for a little while longer. She was beautiful.

* * *

**_To be continued…_**


	3. Part II: Cycle

I don't reply to every review I receive, but I read all of them. Thank you very much!**  
**

**Revised on June 29, 2007.**

* * *

**_Part II:  
Cycle  
_**

_"It is a melancholy truth that even great men have their poor relations."  
- Charles Dickens _

* * *

Hinata was gone – for good, it seemed. However, her death did not stop life and time from progressing in Konoha. 

Hiashi was celebrating, it seemed. Three months after Hinata's disappearance, he had proclaimed Hanabi to be his heir. Any outsider that asked him if he felt any despair at the loss of his daughter, he would laugh at him and jeer, "I'm finally rid of that burden. Why should I be sad?"

But he was. He was sad. Inside, he was bleeding. Had he driven her away – treated her too much of a soldier rather than a daughter? Was he more of a tyrant than a father?

He didn't even know his eldest. He didn't know her much – he knew she liked sweatshirts and pants, but he had no clue what her favorite color or foods were. He knew she was physically weak, but he didn't know that she was strong, too, in her own way. She had a big heart. She was compassionate. He didn't know.

What he knew was that she was a replica of her mother – but everyone knew that. Hiashi may not have been so upset about the loss if Hinata didn't look like her mother. That was what shocked him – he didn't love his daughter as a father should, did he?

She was pleasant to look at – reminiscent of his wife – but that was just about it. She was unpleasant in combat; he didn't like the way she always stuttered, and he didn't know about her heart. Didn't know about her secret love for Uzumaki Naruto, or it was she who grew the hydrangeas in the garden he so loved. He always thought that it was the handiwork of a servant from the Branch house. He didn't know it was Hinata; wouldn't even have suspected her of it.

The sound of a door slamming woke Hiashi – Hanabi's footsteps echoed throughout the house.

"I'm home, Father!" she cried excitedly. She jumped into the courtyard, mechanically launching into the various katas of the Hyuugas' trademark Gentle Fist style. Her long, brown hair – tied into a high ponytail – swayed gently in the breeze.

She looks just like me, Hiashi observed. Hanabi was nothing like her mother – shared no similarities, aside from the gender.

Hiashi knew Hanabi. She hated oolong tea, but she adored with jasmine tea and sweet dumplings. Her favorite color was green; her favorite kimono was the one Hinata had given her on her eleventh birthday. Hanabi loved fish patterns on her yukata. She hated practicing with kunai. She loved showing off the strength of her Byakugan. He lavished her with praise.

Hiashi stood opposite his daughter in the courtyard, assuming a similar fighting stance. "I want to see your footwork for the sixty-four strikes."

Hanabi nodded, automatically going through the steps he had shown her several times before. Her movements were copies of his. Hiashi was proud.

Yes, Hinata wasn't Hiashi's – she never was – but Hanabi was his. She was his.

* * *

Hinata lay silently in the bathtub, so still not even ripples were made in the water. She stared at her thighs, marveling at the clarity of the water. She remembered when she washed the blood off her body; as she settled into the bathtub, she watched the water remove the bloody stains. The pigment fragmented in the water, breaking into waves of pink particles. The water was bloody, but it wasn't red. It was pink. It was filled with blood. 

Sasuke had come in then, a towel tied around his waist for modesty. He had knelt by the bathtub and stared at the water with her. He was staring at the small bulge in her belly – his child.

"Beautiful," he had remarked, pleased at how healthy-looking the swell was. Hinata thought he was talking about the water.

"Yes," she had agreed.

Hinata slid further down the tub, submerging her nose and lips into the water. She blew softly, watching the small bubbles that formed on the water's surface.

She watched them come to life – sparse particles of water trapped with air – and she watched them die. They popped, and the particles scattered. The water returned to the tub, the air returned to the surroundings. And Hinata breathed – she breathed the air in again, pumped it into the water and she gave life to the bubbles. Then she watched them die.

She resurrected them. They died again.

It was a child's game, this cycle. Hinata knew that, but she was awed at the profundity her simple actions brought forth. Life and death in child's play.

Life. And death. A never-ending cycle.

A never-ending cycle, Hinata echoed inwardly. This made her think – she didn't ask to be born. Did anyone ask to be born? She did not choose to live – it was foolish to assume that everyone who lived would be happy being alive.

Fate should still give justice by letting her choose when she dies. Her pale eyes stared at her growing womb. Would her child be happy alive? Wouldn't it better that he die, rather than have parents that don't love him?

She knew that feeling all too well. Her mother had died – she hardly remembered the woman; never even knew her name. Her father had loved her once – that she was sure of, but he never showed affection towards her. It was almost like he wasn't her father; that their father-daughter bond never existed.

Hinata clasped her pale hands around her womb. Would Sasuke be a good father to his child? She knew the purpose of the birth – he would be nothing more than a soldier to Sasuke, a pawn of sorts – an experiment, even, of strength; to see what twisted curse the Byakugan and Sharingan would give rise to.

This child will be cursed, Hinata realized. She had thought of what the child will be like too many times before, but the disembodied voice of Kurenai-sensei always stopped her from trying to kill it.

But Hinata was alone now – she had realized, long ago, that the people she saw in her empty apartment were just figments of her imagination. She was always alone. She never had company. She was lonely.

No one was around to stop her now.

Hinata slid deep into the tub, fully submerging her body in the water. She will kill the child, and she will die with it. It was freedom – for both of them.

* * *

Sasuke's life outside Hinata's jail cell was a mystery. 

He spent his time robbing bandits – he needed the money to raise a child – or accepting payment for killing missing nins. Sometimes he would go back to Orochimaru's abandoned lair and research. He studied the Byakugan and Sharingan; their roots, their capabilities, their strengths and weaknesses. He was excited about his baby – what kind of insurmountable strength would be produced?

Of course, there was always the possibility that the child would have only either the Byakugan or the Sharingan. Sasuke wasn't stupid – that was why he dabbled in experiments. He probed the surviving set of Orochimaru's human experiments; used the snake man's secret techniques to simulate the different possible outcomes of the Byakugan and Sharingan combined.

Sasuke toyed with lives as though he was God, but he was still human. Precisely why he still had sex with Hinata every other day of the week. He doubted himself – doubted the scientific outcomes and experiments he had enslaved himself to.

The girl was already pregnant, the host of his ultimate experiment. Yet, he was scared; desperate. He wanted to make sure that the child had his genes – the better genes, because it was obvious from her body structure that delicate Hinata wasn't suited for combat. He pumped whatever genes into her he could, though he had absolutely no control over what kind of genes his child would have.

Sasuke toyed with lives, pretended he was God and had the ego to match, but he didn't waste lives. Every person he killed – every life he took – had a purpose to him. If his child was just like Hinata – just for show, but not for combat – then he had reason to be afraid. Afraid of himself. Afraid of becoming his father – neglecting the child, casting it aside and not bothering to maximize the talents.

Heartless. He was still human. He was not heartless. He had his armor, but valuing life wasn't one of the broken shields he had cast aside.

Sasuke killed as a business, but he didn't waste lives. Which was why he was going to treasure his child.

In the jail cell, his child was dying. What a waste.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_

End note: I've got this story planned out from beginning to end, but this will always be my favorite chapter.


	4. Part III: Intervention REPOST

Once again, I'm touched by all the reviews I've received. Thank you very much for taking the time to read and review!**  
**

**Revised on June 29, 2007.**

* * *

**_Part III:  
Intervention _**

_"There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval."  
- George Santayana_

* * *

Hanabi found herself outside Hinata's room for the third time that week. Like a ritual she was slowly becoming accustomed to, she slid the door open and padded inside. She slides down onto the floor quietly, flattening her back against the cold, metal legs of her sister's chair. 

She brought her knees to her chin and curled her arms around her legs. The edge of Hinata's furry white carpet tickled her toes. She sighed, tucking herself into an even tighter ball.

The new Hyuuga heir would never admit it out loud, but she missed her sister; missed her soft footsteps as she flitted about the house like a ghost; missed the feminine outline of the silent figure that tended to the flowers in the garden every morning; missed the gentle smiles she would shoot Hanabi from across the table at mealtimes. Hanabi missed Hinata. Truly, sorely, despondently and desperately, for she was the only sibling and mother figure she had.

The two weren't particularly close; they didn't share tender, affectionate moments or fought like hell was breaking open like most siblings. Sometimes Hanabi forgot Hinata even existed, so when the news of her death came, she thought, what difference would it make?

But it did make a difference. Hiashi celebrated, Hanabi's status was raised, the Hyuuga main branch celebrated their new, strong heir and the branch house mourned for the loss of the sweet, gentle girl who cast a caring eye for them, the weak and abandoned. The only heir they had who considered them not as servants, but family.

And Hanabi was lonely – lonelier, even.

She was lonely to begin with – her mother passed away shortly after her birth, her sister was enrolled into the Academy soon after, where she spent most of her time, and her father was always preoccupied with the administrative duties of clan head. Neji resented her at the time – hated Hanabi and Hinata and all of the main house members for sending his father off to die. There were no other children her age with whom she could have played with.

Hanabi was lonely. Then, her training began. She was supposedly better than Hinata – born to supersede her in every way, and that was when she felt like she was truly alive.

She built her life around training – mastered every technique that came her way; executed each move perfectly; vied for her father's smiling face and craved his disappointed frown directed at her sister whenever he compared them. She lived to please, and she was happy.

But she was also angry at the time; angry that she wasn't born first even though the title of clan head suited her more than it did Hinata. She was better than her in every aspect – she was stronger, better at ninjutsu, her Byakugan was sharper and she met every expectation placed upon her slender shoulders.

Yet, why wasn't she born first? It was in those times that she had sided with Neji – curse their fates.

And what made Hanabi even more furious was that Hinata didn't seem to care. She still smiled, laughed and was comfortable as a back-up for her team mates even though their father had made it perfectly clear that a Hyuuga was never meant to be back-ups for others. Hyuugas always had leading roles.

So why was Hinata so _content_? It infuriated and mystified the younger Hyuuga to no end.

Then one day, she got her answer. In the autumn of her thirteenth year of being. It was Hinata's eighteenth autumn.

It was during teatime – their father was at a council meeting, Neji was on a mission and the Hyuuga sisters were alone together for once. Hinata had made tea and rice cakes for them both. Hanabi could still remember the exact shade of the falling leaves that autumn; leaves the tree they sat beneath shed.

Their conversation had seemed civil enough – Hanabi initiated it. She had asked about Hinata's last mission; it was a failure, according to what their father had told her, because Hinata's weakness had been a burden to her team.

Hinata only smiled, agreeing that it was a failure but was glad they had aborted the mission. If they had kept going and retrieved the forbidden scroll stolen by the enemy, Kiba would have lost his life for sure – he had been poisoned earlier on. It was on Hinata's insistence that they gave up on the chase and returned to Konoha.

Hinata was following one of Naruto's mantras again – "Ninja who break the rules are trash, but ninja who abandon their friends are scum."

Hanabi did not understand; could not understand. It was an absolute failure – never mind the conditions of which brought it. She wasn't raised to understand such petty circumstances – all she cared about was the outcome.

So, she lost her temper.

"How can you keep smiling like that?" she vaguely recalled shouting. "You always disobey Father's orders! You never excel the way he wants you to! You're not growing into the ideal leader of the Council! How the hell can you keep on smiling like that? You're a failure!"

Hanabi recalled it clearly – she had flung her teacup at her sister. Hinata didn't dodge it, merely closed her eyes and flinched at the impact of the clay smashing against her forehead. Blood trickled down her cheeks.

Yet she smiled. Yet Hanabi's anger did not subside.

"Hanabi," she had said so softly that it was a miracle the younger Hyuuga calmed down enough to strain her ears. "It's alright even if you don't understand me, but I'm happy, Hanabi. I'm happy because," she looked straight into her sister's eyes, "I feel like I'm living the life I want. I'm happy. I feel like my life is my own."

That was when Hanabi left.

She had understood what Hinata meant – she had insinuated that Hanabi was the true failure; not as a Hyuuga, but as a human being. She had let others control her life; had let others define the meaning of being alive and dictate what she should feel happy about.

She was a shell of a human being. Hinata was not. Maybe she once was, but she was one no longer.

Hinata was full – she had a compassionate heart that was capable of deep affection, even for her ungrateful sister. She had friends who truly cared for her – enjoyed her as a human being, not because her bloodline was simply helpful during scouting missions. She loved. Hanabi knew about her sister's crush on Uzumaki Naruto. She was loved. Hanabi didn't miss the tender glances their cousin Neji sometimes shot her.

Hinata was alive, and she was successful at it. Hanabi was a success in the Council's opinion, but she had failed as a human being. She had died even before she knew what it was like to be alive.

But this time, she was alive and Hinata was dead. Dead, dead, dead. The dead could not live. The living could die, but the dead cannot live. The living die and the dead do not live.

Hinata died. Hanabi lived.

The brunette assessed Hinata's room. The servants had tried to clean out her room, but Hanabi stopped them. She didn't want her sister's things to be touched, even though she wouldn't need them any longer.

Removing Hinata's belongings from the Hyuuga household was like erasing her existence from the face of the planet.

Hinata's belongings remained untouched since Hanabi's intervention. Not a book was out of place on her shelf; not a pen on the table was placed back in its holder. Everything was exactly as it was when Hinata last touched them.

Hanabi crawled across the soft carpet and sank into Hinata's laid-out futon. The sheets were strewn on the floor from when she had struggled against her assailant. The brunette embraced her sister's pillow, inhaling the scent that still lingered there.

Lavender and sweet pea flowers. Hinata's scent.

The fourteen-year-old girl let go of the pillow abruptly. She didn't want to taint Hinata's scent; didn't want it to shy away from the unfamiliar affection lavished upon it by the love-inhibited Hyuuga.

Rolling onto her side, Hanabi spotted a familiar stuffed panda toy a few meters away. She had given it to her sister for her tenth birthday. She reached for and hugged it, enjoying Hinata's faint scent on the toy. She was touched that her sister had kept it for all these years, even though she was far too old to be playing with stuffed animals and even after Hanabi had mistreated and belittled her.

Hinata really did love.

Panda clutched in her embrace, Hanabi exited the room as silently as she had entered it. She didn't plan on returning the toy – Hinata was dead; she didn't need it any longer.

* * *

It was Kurenai's voice that broke her resolve, and in a way, perhaps strengthened it. Built a new resolve in Hinata's heart and fortified it. 

Hinata thought she was doing the right thing. By killing the unborn child, she would be saving it – saving it from a cursed fate as a pawn of a father who didn't love him; saving it from a life as a killing machine; saving it from an existence devoid of love and emotion, which is essentially negating its status as a living human.

So she was going to kill the child, and she with it; her first and last action of love for the cursed foetus.

She could have just forced a miscarriage – she didn't need to die with the child. It was selfish of her to commit suicide, she knew. The Uchiha would have an excuse to go back to Konoha to abduct another female Hyuuga. It was a coward's escape route.

But Hinata couldn't go on living like this. She couldn't go on living as Sasuke's sex kitten, his breeding bitch. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

Suicide was the coward's way out, and the abductor's excuse for obtaining a new captive.

But couldn't Hinata have this one, simple thing just for herself? One, simple decision she could make herself?

Living was too hard. Dying was easy. That was Hinata's decision, but she couldn't act upon it.

She was too weak. Far too weak. Pathetic, even. She couldn't kill herself.

It was Kurenai's fault. But she wasn't even there – was Hinata was going crazy? It was the older woman's voice that stopped her – imaginary as it was, it never felt more real to her.

"I wouldn't kill the child."

Her words were simple, but Hinata couldn't empathize with the meaning. Kurenai had loved her child's father. Hinata despised hers. That was the difference between them, yet Hinata was bowled over by the thoughts that erupted inside her head when she heard that voice.

She had considered the seed in her womb as _her_ child; she had never done so before.

Hinata had thought about it countless times in the past – this child was never going to be loved. Not by his father. Not by his mother. He was going to grow up devoid of love and emotions, stripped of those shields that could protect him but could be broken much easier at such a young age. Hinata wasn't even sure if she could even call what he was going to become as human. Biologically, yes. Spiritually? No.

It was these emotions Sasuke deemed weak, therefore he would get rid of them in his child. She knew that – had seen her father attempt to do so with his younger daughter.

Sasuke's child would be strong if the shields were taken away. Hinata's child could be weak if she fortified those shields; made them thicker and bigger than the child himself, until he would topple over from the weight and size of the barriers. She could suffocate him. She could love him. And he would be weak.

And Sasuke would be angered. It seemed like the perfect revenge, the perfect reason for continuing her tainted existence.

And with that, Hinata was happy.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_

End note: I was very dissatisfied with the original ending of this chapter, and a handful of you, my readers, shared the same sentiments. I also found it too fluffy and it clashed with the setting I tried so hard to achieve, thus, the change.


	5. Part IV: Secrecy REPOST

**Revised on July 8, 2007.**

* * *

**_  
_**

**_Part IV:  
Secrecy_**

_"The secret of life is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived."  
- Oscar Wilde_

* * *

Neji sat still on the roof, his pearl-like eyes glowing softly like the crescent moon behind him. Every few minutes, he would scan his surroundings with Byakugan, paranoid of being discovered perched on an abandoned building at such an ungodly hour. No one could know what he was up to – especially not the Hokage or anyone who could tell her. 

His plans needed to be shrouded in secrecy. He was determined to find his cousin, even if the methods he employed were prohibited by the Hokage. Neji's patience was wearing thin – he was tired of waiting for approval from the elderly. They were narrow-minded old fools who wallowed in what they believed was their infinite wisdom by abandoning the weak and useless.

Their wisdom was their idiocy and ignorance – they had forgotten the values left behind by the Third Hokage and his predecessors; threw away the concept that every ninja, every villager of Konoha was family – every person was a small part of a whole, and when that small part crumbles away, the body will have a hole where it once was. Maybe it would be small and unnoticeable, but no one could deny the existence of that hollow crack.

Neji no longer trusted the Hokage and her council of elders that governed her decisions – Tsunade's will of fire was slowly starting to diminish, and eventually it would die out. Neji had never trusted the Hyuuga council, but the little faith he had accumulated in them over the years had disappeared the moment Hiashi had dubbed Hanabi as heir. They had abandoned Hinata – didn't even try to acknowledge the crack in their family or find her so it would be filled again. They paved the crack over with cement; used Hanabi as their clan's repair tool, their new fortification. It was compensation for their initial weakness - a replacement superior to the weak Hinata.

Once again, they had forgotten the importance of compassion, as did Neji so many years ago until it was beat into him by Naruto, Hinata's ideal.

Compassion was being able to see the cracks – the people who made up the small, seemingly insignificant parts of the whole and try to love them, save them and value them so the cracks would never even exist. That was Hinata, and what she tried to do.

The miserable truth was, no one would appreciate her for it. Not even Neji – even after he had acknowledged the change in his cousin's heart, he hadn't acknowledged the purpose of her existence; the misery she tried to heal. And for that, he felt guilty.

A soft thud on the tin roof momentarily snapped Neji out of his reverie. He turned around, snarling viciously at the intruder. "What do you want?"

"Neji-nii-san." The voice was soft and hoarse.

"Hanabi-sama?" the older Hyuuga prodded gently, looking at her shadowed features. Her pale eyes were tinged pink, and a thin line of mucus ran down her nose. "Have you been crying?"

"N-no," Hanabi whispered, futilely swatting at the tears staining her tanned cheeks. She blinked in bewilderment at the handkerchief Neji offered her. Stealing a quick glance at her cousin's bemused smile, she snatched the offered piece of cloth and buried her face in it. It smelled like soap; distinct and masculine. Hanabi blushed beneath the cloth.

Neji didn't need to activate his bloodline to notice the soft blush on his cousin's cheeks. _Cute_, he mused. Hanabi's actions violently reminded him of Hinata; the mere thought of her made his insides twist with shame and his heart heavy with guilt. He hadn't felt such emotions so heavily since he learned of his sweet cousin's abduction.

For a while, Neji wondered what kind of person had abducted the heiress – was it someone who had seen her for what she was truly worth? Or was it simply for money – the kidnapper used Hinata as a hostage for ransom money?

Unlikely – Neji had dismissed the latter hypothesis. It had been over three months since Hinata's disappearance – surely the abductor would have issued a ransom letter, a threat of some sort, by now?

However, Neji did not want to believe in his initial hypothesis either. He was angered by the fact that someone else had noticed it before him – he wanted to be the first who made Hinata feel worthy of herself; he wanted to be the one who made her feel whole and share her misery and joys. He couldn't believe that someone else had beaten him to it.

The Hyuuga prodigy – what an oxymoron, now, it seemed, for he was rather slow on catching on to the truth – clenched his fists in anger. Anger at the Councils; anger at the abductor; anger at himself. Three months and still no turn-ups? No ninja should ever take this long to find one, missing girl.

Perhaps it was because the search parties didn't look in the right places, or perhaps the kidnapper kept changing his locations. Or perhaps that the abductor never wanted Hinata to be found – for her own sake, to shield her from her own family. For her happiness. For her worth.

Neji was unhappy. He didn't know the truth – doubted his own suspicions, but they continued to plague him, guilt him. He was sorry. And once he found Hinata, he would make it up to her.

"Neji-nii-san?" Hanabi called out softly, cowering slightly at the angry look on his face. Was calling him by that suffix too painful? Did it remind him too much of Hinata, and he was angry that she was trying to take her place? She bit her lower lip, disliking the salty taste of the tears that had trickled down there. "Neji-kun. Neji?"

"Hanabi-sama." The antagonized look left his face, and he seemed surprised to see Hanabi glaring up at him. "What are you doing here?"

She began twisting his handkerchief in her hands. "I refuse to believe that my sister is dead." Her lips dipped in a severe frown, making her resemble the strict Hyuuga head to an unpleasantly shocking degree. "No, I _know_ that my sister is not dead. She is alive and you know it. Tell me what you know. Tell me what you're up to!"

Her voice had grown shrill - Neji had to clamp her mouth shut and activate his Byakugan to make sure that they weren't attracting unsavory attention. "I am waiting for my messenger," he whispered. "Wait with me, and you will soon find out."

* * *

Sasuke quietly entered the prison of a room, stepping over strewn furniture and clothes. He saw his 'wife' asleep on the floor, curled in the small strip of warm sunlight that filtered in through a small window. He was covered with the odor of blood, of death - he had gone killing again, slicing open his enemies bodies and slashing their arteries and relishing in the gallons of blood that sprayed forth from their flesh. It was a sick obsession he indulged in and never tried to curb. He knelt beside her and waited for the smell of death to wake her, but she scarcely moved. 

He brandished a kunai from his pocket and held it against her pale, exposed throat. A small drop of blood erupted from her skin. Hinata still did not stir. Quietly and gently, Sasuke applied pressure to her wound and pumped the tiniest bit of chakra to his fingers. When he withdrew his touch, only traces of a scab forming to stem the bleeding was left.

He knew it all along, but he still marveled at how _soft_ Hinata was - she was completely incapable of becoming a kunoichi. Handling weapons only blistered and bruised her small hands while they toughened his hide and hardened his skin, creating a natural armor to protect his body from physical pain.

Sasuke glanced at the hands he was just thinking of - the blisters were gone. He noticed them immediately the night he came to her, holding her wrists in his hands as she struggled. He noticed how she flinched in pain when she broke free and grasped a kunai to fend him off, her fingers slack around the metal handle as though holding it was already a harrowing task.

Hinata was never meant to be a ninja; was not inherently built for such a lifestyle. He did not know whether to pity the girl for being a disappointment to her prestigious clan, or to be angered at her family for not realizing her shortcomings sooner. He was sure that her family knew that she wasn't mean to be a ninja, yet he heard stories of how fiercely they pushed their heiress in combat and venomously abused her when she failed to meet expectations. Even his own father was not that cruel - he was cold, distant and short with compliments, but he was never abusive. Never with Sasuke. Not even with Itachi.

Sasuke stroked her hollow cheeks - he mentally noted to forcefeed her when she awoke - inwardly thankful at Hinata's fragmented personality. If she did grow up to be a typical Hyuuga – strong, confident – she'd be able to hurt him; penetrate his shields and armor and make him bleed and cry. Then what Hyuuga would be left for him to desecrate? He refused to take in a common woman and be satisfied with children of the Sharingan. It was a strong ability, but the possibility of a stronger ability was tempting. He needed the Byakugan for that, a doujutsu stronger than his own.

In a twisted way, he was thankful that Hinata was broken. He was thankful that her family broke her – an irony, indeed. Most families are supposed to love and nurture their children, yet the Hyuuga broke theirs.

Sasuke gazed at her long, dark eyelashes. They cast gentle shadows on her cheeks. When her eyes were closed, and he couldn't see those big, white eyes staring at him blankly, he was reminded of his own mother. Perhaps that was another reason why he chose her – the resemblance. She was soft like her, gentle and quiet. She had an elegant air about her, exuding a quiet beauty that was easily overlooked by the men of Konoha, who turned their lustful gazes to loud women like Sakura and the Yamanaka girl who openly flaunted their curves and showed their skin. They couldn't appreciate sophistication and modesty, casting aside the quiet girl in the parka and pants.

Perhaps it was being raised by his mother that made him notice her, appreciate the silent elegance she exuded. She had rubbed off on Sasuke more than he realized, even if he spent most of his childhood craving his father and brother's attentions.

If Hinata was anything like his mother, Sasuke thought darkly, scowling, she would love and smother their child – fortify his emotional shields while making them weaker at the same time. Sasuke didn't want that; didn't want weakness – it was that attention and affection that built his weaknesses and made him weak; made his father favor Itachi more and frown at everything he did and stood for.

But Sasuke knew that Hinata was already broken – he fragmented her even more when he planted his seed inside her. His fruit of hope; her burden of hatred

He smirked, curling his fingers around hers. He frowned when she recoiled at his touch. Sasuke grabbed her hand firmly, not letting her escape his grasp even when she feebly tried to tug away in her sleep. He smiled at this again - she hated him; was afraid of him. Because of this, she would never love his child. He would grow up strong, learn how to craft his own armor and have no use of petty, emotional shields that could easily crumble. He would have no weaknesses.

Fatigue took its toll on the avenger. Too tired to wash up and leave the prison cell, Sasuke lay on the floor next to his 'wife'. He closed his eyes contentedly, inhaling the faint scent of lavender that she was emanating. For now, he was content.

He was oblivious to Hinata's resolve; her revenge.

* * *

The new arrival crouched on the tin roof, his black attire blending in with the darkness of the night. Only the bright, pale skin on his exposed left arm and abdomen could be seen. He looked up at Neji and Hanabi, a pleasant smile gracing his features. "Good evening." 

"Your report, Sai-kun," Neji barked crisply.

"Of course," Sai said lightly, glancing curiously at the red-faced Hyuuga girl that was sitting by Neji. "The team you've set up has successfully inflitrated the Cloud village."

A smirk crawled onto Neji's face. He was obviously pleased. He nodded in approval, dismissing the younger ANBU member with a wave of his hand.

"N-neji?" Hanabi looked up at her cousin, terror evident in her wide eyes. "I-I'm not sure about this. Our alliances with the Cloud are pretty shaky, and they'll be furious if they find out there are Konoha spies in their village. They're allied with a lot of villages we're not, Neji! What if another war breaks out?"

Neji stared at his cousin coolly, kneeling to face her eye-to-eye. He grasped her shoulders. "Listen to me, Hanabi-sama. You want your sister back, don't you?"

Hanabi averted her gaze. "Of course I do. But... this is a bit much. It's not worth it." She met his gaze, her eyes blazing with fury. "Neji. You must recall your troops! War truly might be inevitable if they're discovered. If you don't, I'll tell Father and he'll tell Tsunade-sama!"

The older Hyuuga shook her shoulders angrily. "I see the Hyuuga council has trained you well, Hanabi-sama. I knew that you were just another puppet. Another fool who abandons Hinata-sama." He gazed at her coolly, sending shivers of fear down her spine.

Hanabi bit her lip again, tightly shutting her eyes to stem the fresh flow of tears that threatened to spill out. His had called her a _puppet_ - wasn't that just what her sister was implying that day she told her that she was happy, even if she was a failure to the council? She had always denied it, but now she knew that she was definitely nothing more than the Hyuuga's tool. She felt more like a trapped branch member than the strong heir to the noble clan.

"F-fine," she bit out harshly, glaring at her cousin once more. "I won't tell Father. I won't tell the Hokage. I won't tell anyone."

Neji's eyes still held a hint of suspicion.

"You don't believe me, Neji?" Hanabi chuckled weakly, grabbing a kunai concealed in her nightclothes. "I trust you, nii-san. I must prove that I am worthy of trust, too. You're not the only one who loves Hinata!" She sliced her left palm, biting back the whimper that threatened to erupt from her throat.

Neji held her bloody hand, ripping the sleeve of his attire to wrap around the gash. "Alright, Hanabi-sama. I trust you." Their gazes met. "This is a promise for Hinata-sama."

Hanabi nodded, watching the blood seeping into the cloth. She hadn't lied to him - she wouldn't tell anyone else of his plan. Yet, deep inside her heart, she knew that she had just made a foolish promise.

_But_, she thought, _I will do anything to prove that I am a human being just like Neji and Hinata. I am not someone else's puppet._

* * *

The metallic scent of blood invaded her nostrils and she felt an itch on her neck, like a mosquito bite. The sun was gone, too - it was raining heavily and the floor was icy cold. 

Hinata tried moving her right hand to soothe the irritation, but was surprised to find that she couldn't make it budge. She opened her eyes and nearly had a heart attack upon seeing Sasuke's face so close to hers - he was asleep, too. It was the first time she saw him displaying vulnerability.

His hand was holding hers, and pressing it to his chest. She could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His other arm was wrapped around her bulging womb, his legs draped over hers.

Hinata contemplated escaping from the avenger's embrace, but feared that she would wake him. She shivered from the cold, looking for a blanket, anything, to provide her some warmth. When she found none, she unconsciously edged closer to the Uchiha, absently pleased at how her curves - womb and all - fit nicely against his rigid, muscular form. She felt his warm breath tickling her forehead, and was satisfied with the refuge he offered.

Before she succumbed to sleep once more, she vaguely wondered why the hell wasn't she afraid of him. She gazed at him through half-lidded eyes, noting how child-like he looked in vulnerable slumber. She smiled, appeased with the strange reason - she had always liked children, even her little monster of a sister Hanabi.

_She was cute growing up. _Those were her last thoughts before she fell asleep, tucking her head beneath Sasuke's chin and curling an arm around their child. They were a strange sight.

* * *

**_To be continued..._**

End note: Meaning of the scent of lavender - soothing; dispels pain.


	6. Part V: Balance

I've just gone through the worst case of writer's block I've had in years. This chapter is the best I can give right now.

* * *

**_Part V  
Balance _**

_"Before a diamond shows its brilliancy and prismatic colors it has to stand a good deal of cutting and smoothing."  
- Author Unknown _

* * *

_**Dedicated to all my friends on Livejournal  
**You are my writer's block saviors_

* * *

_**  
**_

Hinata had grown up with the understanding that black was death. Before then, her world was composed of pastel hues and gentle shades of creamy white. Her only exposure to vibrant colors lay in the exotic flora that bloomed rarely in her mother's garden. Then death came, along with the color black. For a long time, she had convinced herself that everything bad came in black.

It started with her mother's death. Hinata was barely seven and yet to attend school. Her sister had just turned two in the early spring; with it came the heavy spring rains that dissolved the land and usurped rivers – it was that rainy spring that soaked the mother of two. The rain seeped into her flesh and made her rot from the inside out, like acid in a plastic container. The cholera rapidly consumed her; juiced the vitality from her body and drained the light of happiness that was ever-present in her mother's eyes – it was those slivers of light that distinguished her pale eyes from the other members of the Hyuuga. The light made her beautiful, and when those were gone, Hinata could no longer recognize, could no longer believe, that the thin, sallow-faced woman who spent her last days in the garden – her beautiful mother's precious garden – was actually her mother.

As the Hyuuga matriarch was ravaged by disease, her beloved garden was ravaged by weeds. She spent her last moments in that garden of hers, with those plants that had been her constant companions for so many years, pulling out the weeds. She plucked them one by one, and one by one she stacked them in the basket she brought for them. Hinata remembered the vacant, glazed eyes; the robotic hand movements. Why wasn't her mother staying in bed? Didn't her father say that she was very ill and was forbidden to leave her sickbed?

_A cure_, little Hinata thought._ Mama must have found a cure for her sickness_. And in her mind, she thought that by unearthing the weeds – as what her mother was doing – the cure could be found, buried in the soil like a hollow seed that had never sprouted. So she helped – she, too, began pulling the weeds from the earth. She wanted to help her mother, to see her mother smile and laugh again; to see that familiar light in her mother's eyes again.

For a long time, mother and daughter remained silent, lost in the tasks they set for themselves to fulfill goals neither knew about. Silence blanketed them like trees snug in an avalanche's embrace. All was well, until the dirty rain that had accumulated in the crevices of her mother's fragile, wooden body began to drip. It circulated and did damage once more. The woman began coughing and shivering. She lay on the disturbed soil and wept as she cradled herself. Watching her hurt. Being her hurt more.

Never before had the six-year-old Hyuuga been so terrified, so panicked. She screamed for help. She began digging in the soil. Her hands were fast; they tore up dirt and weeds and pretty flowers – she couldn't tell weeds from the grass or fruits from the flowers. The soil was her enemy and every creature in the soil was no ally of hers. They were all obstacles – they tried to stop her from finding the cure.

Hinata saw brown – lots of it – in the dirt, on the crowns of various family members who had swooped down to their aid. There was a lot of green – there was always a lot of green in the trees, the grass, the weeds. She remembered seeing lots of yellows, a few blues and the occasional pinks – flowers her mother had grown, all dying now as she uprooted them; she took them away from their life source. She was a killer. She was in a frenzy – a murder frenzy? She was supposed to be looking for something, but what? What was it now? She couldn't quite remember.

She recalled arms encircling her – she thought it was one of the branch house servants. She kicked and screamed and cried._ "Mama! I want to help Mama!"_

_"Hinata," _Hiashi hissed, displeased with his eldest's lack of discipline._ "Stop."_

_Stop? Stop what? Stop helping? Stop killing?_

"Your hands… they are dirty."

The little girl's body went slack. She turned to stare right into her father's white, bottomless eyes. She couldn't see her reflection in them._ Stop?_

Hinata averted her gaze. Her father's jaw was clenched and he looked quite angry. She never liked it when he looked at her that way. Instead, she directed her gaze to her left, where servants were bent over her still-coughing mother. Each cough racked her willowy frame violently – the sleet was falling again, viciously beating down on the slender willow branches that made up her mother's body. Hinata began struggling again – she needed to escape her father's hold! Each cough grew louder and louder in Hinata's ears. She was sure her mother was going to explode at any moment.

Hiashi sighed, sending a small surge of chakra into his daughter's body. The frenzied child calmed down significantly, sinking into her father's arms. Her pale eyes became glazed and half-lidded, looking very much like her sick mother, Hiashi couldn't help but notice. But he hoped that, unlike her mother, he would never have to do this to Hinata.

"Watch, Hinata," he said softly, handing her over to a servant. "Watch carefully, and do not ever forget this moment."

The little girl nodded dazedly. Her eyes obediently followed her father as he strode to the dying woman on the grass. Her attendants assisted her into a kneeling position.

"Beloved," Hiashi murmured mournfully from his standing position. "I have always feared that it would come to this."

His wife smiled – a crack in the rotting willow tree. "I would rather die by your hands than succumb to this disease like a dog in a famine. There is no shame in that."

The patriarch activated the Byakugan. He turned slowly to face his daughter, a look of indifference upon his face. "Hinata, my heiress. Never forget what you are about to witness. This is the right thing to do."

He raised his palm and thrust it at his wife – right there, on her chest; right above her heart. And she fell asleep – in Hinata's eyes it was sleep – and lay down on the lush grass with a serene smile on her face. She was dead – had died in the presence of lives she had cultivated herself.

Hinata stared at her father, unsure of how to feel. Her mother was just sleeping, wasn't she? But why was there blood trickling down her mouth? Why did Hinata feel so empty inside?

_Right thing to do…_ Hiashi's voice echoed in her mind. The longer she stared at her father's white eyes, the louder the voice became. And when she finally fell asleep beneath that white gaze, she had come to one conclusion: the color white represented everything correct, and, when Hinata grew older and learned of this term, she would, for a long time, believe that white was the color of justice.

She spent days confined in her room, seeing not her father, mother or sister. Servants brought her three meals a day and she was escorted to the bathroom. The atmosphere in the compound was different – she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but tension seemed to be in the air. Incense, too – the air was heavy with burning incense every time Hinata stepped out of her room.

When she was allowed to see her father and sister again, it was at her mother's funeral. She was dressed heavily in black, as was every other family member. They were gathered at Konoha's burial site, where every citizen that had come to pass would find eternal rest and eternal comfort from the stone faces of the Hokages that watched over them. Hinata's mother was the latest occupant in this residential area.

And this was a housewarming party where every person who came to see her off was dressed in black.

The color wasn't new to her; the branch family members wore black, while the main family members distinguished themselves by wearing white. But Hinata had never thought about that color and what it symbolized.

Then she discovered death at the funeral. There, she understood farewell.

At age nineteen, the memory of her mother's funeral was no longer clear. But she could still remember two colors – black and white. Black robes and white flowers lain upon coffins.

The funeral left her profoundly empty. Never before had she felt such loneliness. She was mortified, too – why was she never given the chance to say farewell?

It wasn't long after that first farewell that Hinata had experienced another; had attended another housewarming party for a family member – an elder this time – who had moved out.

They all wore black again. They all laid white flowers upon the ebony coffins again.

Over time, she learned. Black was the color of death – of mourning, of anger. It was the color she and her family wore to express unhappiness for injustice – during funerals, it was indignation at being left behind. For the branch family, it was silent protest at being deemed subservient to people who shared the same noble blood and combat abilities.

Did she fear the color? For some time she did. She avoided it – meandered throughout the sprawling Hyuuga estate to avoid the servants dressed in black. She avoided the Uchiha boy from school, too. His eyes were as dark as his hair – an abyss – as was the rest of his clan. Black, black eyes and black, black hair. They were Uchiha.

And when the clan perished at the hands of one of their own, she couldn't help that smug thought from crawling in her mind._ I told you so._

For five years she watched the survivor. She watched him cry out in loneliness. She watched him push away those who tried to love him. He trained every day like she did, but he grew stronger. She did not. When they were thirteen, she realized which of them was truly strong.

Sasuke left the village; left his friends – the people who gathered around him to offer him love and familial affection. After all those years of mourning, he rejected what he had most desired for a long time. He left the living to fulfill the wishes of the dead. The boy chased death. Death was always just out of his reach, but it was there. It would tap him on the shoulder, and just when he turned around to face it, Death was on the move again. In front of him, over the horizon, beyond the sunset.

Hinata knew she was superior. She was superior to him in every way: her family was still alive even though they treated her so distantly they might as well have been dead. Yet she had true friends and comrades who loved and protected her. She would never push them away. They were her real family. She was happy with them. Sasuke could have found the same happiness. It was right in front of him, never fleeting or hiding from him. Yet he pushed it away. He chose death. He chose isolation and misery.

She pitied him. Sometimes she even laughed at him in her heart. But now that she was his captive, it didn't seem so funny anymore.

Hinata woke up first. Sasuke's gaze was unleashed on her not soon after. Their awkward embrace hadn't loosened or tightened throughout their slumber. Neither of them spoke. They never did, aside from Hinata's occasional queries of time.

They continued to stare at each other, their special eyes never betraying that each was lost in thought. It was strange, Hinata mused. No one would ever have thought that they'd end up in each other's arms. Regardless of his or her circumstances, she didn't think that it was right for them to be together. Never mind rape or child soldiers. He could never give her what she wanted, and she could never fulfill his appetite. They were both broken. They couldn't repair their cracks when neither of them had the material to do so.

She was the bashful and timid Hyuuga heiress. She craved affection yet was too shy to seek it. He was the sole survivor of the Uchiha massacre, cold and withdrawn. He bit the hands of those who fed him. They didn't fit.

Yet maybe they did. Maybe Sasuke wanted his own pet; someone he could learn to love and train in his own time and maybe, she would love him back. He was sick of being loved by others and being expected to return the affection. Maybe Hinata was never meant to give away what she never had in the first place; she couldn't truly love another without experiencing that love herself.

Were they opposites? Were they similar? Were they meant to balance each other? Was the blinding white of her eyes supposed to contrast with the depressing void of his onyx pupils?

_White. Black. Black and white, white upon black._ Her thoughts wandered back to the flowers on the coffins. White lilies and chrysanthemums. Back then, little Hinata thought that white was the color of justice. She laid flowers upon graves to say goodbye to those who left – to satisfy her wishes of "why couldn't I say goodbye?" White brought happiness and reassurance to black days.

She smiled in spite of herself. No, she wasn't going to try to love the captor. How could she forget what he did to her? How could she forget about the child she was cradling beneath her flesh?

_White upon black._ Even before the child was born, it would be black. Death seeped through its blood since it was conceived expressly for the purpose of bringing death and sadness. She would taint the darkness, taint it white and anger the black. Anger Sasuke.

They were a perfect balance of acknowledgement and single-mindedness. Ignore their polarities and similarities. They were a balance, but not for each other. They were either too similar or too different for their own good. Their child would be born into their embrace, this balance. All Hinata had to do was tip the scales; dip more white paint than Sasuke was dipping black.

"You know, Sasuke-san." Her voice was breathy, as though her voice box was no longer used to churning out sounds on a regular basis. When was the last time she spoke to him, the sole living creature she interacted with?

He drew closer to her. "I don't hate you," she murmured against his lips. The world turned black. His darkness had seeped into her.

"That so," he breathed back, swiftly unraveling the sash around her waist. She was acknowledging him today. The thought excited him – it took three months, but she was finally falling into his trap. Hinata was already a rotting log in a voracious swamp.

The first stage was to capture. The second stage was to bind.

* * *

It was almost noon. The market crowd was thick with shopping civilians and desk-job ninjas out on their lunch break. Amidst the cloud, Hanabi strode with purposeful steps. She was a rigid icicle in the mushroom of rain droplets. 

The previous evening's meeting with her cousin had left Hanabi disconcerted. She disliked keeping secrets – especially ones pertaining to_ crimes_ – yet she wanted to prove that she was human. That she had desires and emotional attachments, too.

Neji didn't trust her yet. He felt that she knew enough at the moment – she knew that Konoha ninjas had infiltrated the Cloud, and that was enough to spark off a war. He couldn't have been hiding any greater secrets, could he?

At the moment she knew of only two members on the secret retrieval squad – her cousin Neji and the strange ANBU nin Sai. She'd never seen him before, nor had she heard her sister speak of him before. Was he even acquainted with her sister? How so? Who else was on the squad? Who else loved her sister so much they would die for her? No – more than that. They were willing to risk their village, their loved ones for her. Who were these people? What was it about her sister?

Hanabi gritted her teeth. She wanted to be like her sister – what was it about her that made her comrades want to die for her? If the Hyuuga prodigy had died, the only ones who would truly mourn were her father and his council of elders. Perhaps a few older shinobi would shake their heads sadly, too, and say, "What a loss." Then they'd go on with their daily lives and look for stronger ninjas.

Ninjas worked in cells. It was pointless to have one exceptionally strong ninja – the key to success was always in teamwork, never in individual strength. Hanabi had never been particularly popular with her peers in the Academy, even though she always topped the class. Even her teammates only spent time with her on missions. They never bonded. She was always at home, bathing in the approval of her father and the other old men who craved strength; they only saw the strong sons and daughters of the Hyuuga. The rest never existed. Hanabi was special, wasn't she? Yet why was she so worried about her self-worth?

Why was her sister even more special than she? She wasn't strong the way Hanabi was. Hanabi had superseded her in taijutsu, ninjutsu and genjutsu long ago. She had gained the familial approval her older sister never could long before she even attained genin status. She was special. She was worth something. Yet who would acknowledge that worth? Yes, Hanabi had comrades. But they weren't friends. They weren't loved ones. Would her sister even be around any more to assure her of her confidence?

Hinata was always the comparison point. It was her meekness that gave Hanabi so much confidence in herself. Yet when it came to personal happiness – self-fulfillment and self-worth – Hinata outclassed her. Why?

What was she worth? Hanabi wanted to know. Why was her sister so loved? She wanted to understand.

She stopped in front of a smooth, white door in a quiet corridor. She could no longer hear the babble of the crowd drifting through the stairwell that led her to this particular apartment in this special building. Her sister had often passed her time in this edifice, with a woman she possibly considered closer than her own family.

Hanabi rapped the wooden surface four times. When the door opened, Hanabi stated her purpose for visiting even before the answerer could greet her.

"Yuuhi-san. I want to talk about Hinata."

* * *

**_To be continued…_**

End note: (3/10/07) A few reviewers mentioned their displeasure at this chapter for being too wordy and descriptive, but the majority of you seem to like this chapter's style and flow just fine. Nevertheless, if you see areas for improvement, let me know. I love constructive criticism.


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